Though Yesterday Is Gone
by Hanneli
Summary: The 8th anniversary of Voldemort's defeat marks an annual day of mourning for the wizarding world...


**Yes, I'm back. :) **

**No, I don't own it. :(**

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Harry showed up on Ron and Hermione's doorstep at exactly six in the evening, just as he had done every year on the fourteenth of June for the past eight years, usually with Ginny in tow and Luna and Neville Apparating some distance behind them. This year, however, he was alone: Ginny was at home with baby James, Luna was at her sister-in-law's wedding in Australia, and Neville, of course, could not get away from Hogwarts on a day like today. 

As was tradition, he rapped on the door two or three times and was quickly ushered in by Ron, who, despite being pleased at the sight of his oldest friend, had obviously not forgotten the solemnity of the day.

"Harry," said Ron simply, hugging him briefly. Fifteen years of friendship made any other greeting unnecessary.

Harry loosened his travelling cloak and said, half to himself, "I can't believe it'll just be you and me this year. That'll be…" He paused, searching for an appropriate word. "Odd."

"Don't count on it," came Hermione's voice from the stairs as soon as she heard Harry speak. Within a few seconds she came into view as she descended from the second landing. "If you two think you're abandoning me today, you've got another thing coming."

Not sure how to bring up the subject tactfully, Harry looked to Ron to make a move. Ron shrugged and whispered aside, "I've already tried. She's quite determined."

"Hermione," said Harry, consciously keeping his voice reasonable, "You can't possibly Apparate; not in your condition. You know you'll get terrible motion sickness."

"I'm pregnant, Harry, not terminally ill," said Hermione dryly. "I'll survive somehow."

Far from convinced, Harry shot a sceptical glance at Ron, the latter of whom smiled softly at his wife's determination to accompany them. Meeting Harry's eyes, it was clear that he was already relenting. "Ah, maybe we should let her come," he said contemplatively. "It wouldn't feel right otherwise."

"Alright, alright," Harry conceded. Addressing Hermione, he said, "Would you mind doing the flower arrangements this year? Ginny tried to teach me, but apparently I'm beyond help."

"Of course," said Hermione, her expression losing some of its severity. Her eyebrows drew together as she took in the absence at Harry's side. "But where _is_ Ginny?"

"At home," Harry told her. "We couldn't find a soul who was available to look after James – I should've realised sooner – and we didn't want to impose upon Mum and Dad Weasley today. I offered to stay, too, but she pretty much forced me out the door."

"Oh… that was nice of her," said Hermione a bit guiltily, fiddling with her wand. She Summoned two cloaks without half-trying: a light blue one for herself and one in a darker shade which she handed to Ron. "You're not getting rid of me next year, though. I'll be coming then, and the year after that, and all the years after that, even if we have to bring the little one with us. Right, Ron?"

Ron smiled with a tenderness Harry was still unused to seeing in his friend's eyes. "Of course. And next year I'm sure we'll all be together again."

_All_, Harry reflected, was a slightly bigger group now than it had been a decade ago, but still he felt a yearning of sad nostalgia for what used to be meant by "all". By the look on Ron's face, he knew where Harry's thoughts were.

Breaking a moment of silence, Hermione inquired gently, "Harry? The usual order?"

Harry nodded. Somehow routine made things easier to deal with.

"Alright… well," said Hermione, steeling herself, "On the count of one… two… three…"

The word "three" was partly drowned out by the sudden rush of summer wind surrounding them. Pink and purple skies flashed by in a matter of seconds, and then they were standing halfway down a short road culminating in an old-fashioned kissing gate.

Harry had not seen the village in winter since the first time he and Hermione had come here. Normally the only glimpses he got of his birthplace were as it was now: trees densely covered in green leaves, with a dying blossom fallen here and there, a breeze that was decidedly neither warm nor cool, and wild plants and flowers flourishing everywhere the eye could see. He began walking briskly towards the gate, but slowed down as soon as he saw Hermione's greenish tinge.

"You alright?" he asked sympathetically. She nodded and leaned a little bit more into Ron, who stuck his wand into his pocket and supported her carefully.

"Fine," she said, smiling weakly. "Don't look at me that way, you two. I just need a moment and I'll be good as new." Her face gradually regained its colour and she said, "See? Now come on."

Harry's parents' grave lay ahead. It was nearly identical to the many others surrounding it, but he picked it out instantly. As he approached, he noticed how the white marble headstone appeared pink in the light, giving an ethereal glow to the inscription that was almost all of Harry's concrete proof that his parents had once walked this same earth. Behind him, Hermione set to work quietly conjuring a bouquet of red and white carnations, quite bridal in appearance, as Harry silently ran his fingers over the dates of birth and death.

1960—1981. 1960—1981. How could they have died so young? He was already five years older than they had been, and aging everyday… a lump formed in his throat with unanticipated speed as he considered that his son was now just the same age that he had been when his mother and father had been killed.

"I wish they could've met James… just once," he said aloud. His voice sounded rough even to his own ears.

"They would have been wonderful grandparents, Harry," said Ron seriously. "I wish I could've known them."

Harry accepted the flowers that Hermione held out to him and said, "Yeah… me too." He knelt down and, with the greatest care, placed the bouquet on the grass at the base of the headstone. Soundlessly he whispered, "Bye, Mum. Bye, Dad," and slowly lifted himself to his feet. The grass stains on his knees seemed to him a bit of a connection to the parents he wished had never had to leave him.

Ron and Hermione followed closely behind him. As per tradition, Harry was the last one to exit the graveyard. He shut the little gate behind them and forced himself to tear his eyes away from his parents' final resting place. He still had one more piece of business in Godric's Hollow.

Harry's first home, of course, had not changed. It was as static a monument as the statue of his family that he always encountered along the way.

Harry extracted a fresh quill from the pocket of his cloak and searched the messy memorial-cum-message board for his neatly inscribed HJP, followed by the numbers '98, '99, '00, '01, '02, '03, '04 and '05, and added a little "'06" to the list. Hermione and Ron did the same to their respective initials. Harry could not remember looking too closely at the others' marks since the night when, eight years earlier, they had carved them there, but he looked now and felt an unexpected smile creep across his face when he realised that somewhere along the way, someone had seen fit to add a "W" to the end of Hermione's original HJG. It was a pleasant reminder that not all changes since the war had been for the worse.

As they stepped back to take in their handiwork, a gust of wind pushed at them, reminding them that they had little time to spare. Harry looked to Ron and Hermione for their nods, and within seconds, they again vanished. When they reappeared they were standing inside a great atrium, empty but for a single wizard seated behind a towering desk. The man did not give them a second glance as they crossed the enormous hall and entered a smaller but equally deserted one. They proceeded to take a lift down to the Department of Mysteries, and continued on by foot until they reached the room, if it could be called that, where Sirius had been killed a full decade ago.

The pit was bleak and cold, and the veil of the stone archway fluttered lightly though there was no breeze out all in the underground room. Trying not to dwell on how utterly miserable it would be to die in a place like this, Harry stood a careful distance from the archway and balled up his fists, his eyes fixed on the spot where he had seen Sirius disappear. Though it was probably accountable for by the poor light, the curtains seemed more shadowy in that region than in any other. Unable to bear it very long, he looked away as he placed Hermione's spray of dramatically-streaked irises on the foundation of the dais. This time he didn't say anything, but the tears in his eyes were enough. Time had finally allowed him to grieve.

Ron and Hermione said a few words each that Harry couldn't seem to hear, although he thought he caught an affectionate mention of "Snuffles" amidst Hermione's sniffling. Harry stepped slowly around the archway, concealing himself behind one of the pillars, and closed his eyes. "You were," he said quietly, lips moving against the cold stone, "the best godfather any bloke could have had. I miss you all the time."

Relieved to have expressed the sentiment however insufficiently, he retreated a few steps and turned his back on the structure. He gave Ron and Hermione the signal and they Disapparated together, trading the chilliness of the contained air for a salty atmosphere particular to the seaside.

Shell Cottage lay ahead, but they hadn't come for a visit today. Though it was still fairly early in the evening, Harry could see even from this distance that the shutters were drawn closed in recognition of the day.

"Uncle Harry! Uncle Ron, Auntie Hermione!" squealed a certain strawberry blonde girl whose striking good looks, even at eight, were responsible for having brought heartache to small boys from miles around. She jumped up from her sitting position in the field, a bunch of flowers falling from her hand as she ran to hug them all.

"Victoire," Harry and Hermione greeted her in unison.

"Your mum and dad home, Vicky?" asked Ron, patting her head.

"Yes, they are. Shall I fetch them?" she asked, wandering away to pick up the fallen flowers.

Harry shook his head. "No, we can't stay long. We only came—"

"—for Dobby's grave?" asked Victoire. She pushed her hair back behind one ear. "I saw you last year, only Mum doesn't know; she thought I was in bed. Anyway, I guessed you might come again today, so I gathered these for you." She held out the flowers and waited expectantly.

"They're lovely, Victoire," said Hermione gently. "Would you like to come with us and lay them down yourself?"

"Yes, please!" said Victoire. She took Hermione's hand and, as they walked, told her, "These ones here are heartsease. I found them way down there by the fence. And these ones are forget-me-nots, from… well, everywhere. But aren't the names sad? I wonder who would give such pretty flowers such sad names."

"I don't think they're necessarily sad, Vicky," said Hermione. She pointed at the rock that served as Dobby's headstone. "Look. I think Dobby would be happy if he could know we haven't forgotten him, or what he did for us."

"He saved our lives," said Ron. "If it weren't for him…" It took some effort to steady his voice as he looked at Hermione, but he wouldn't have finished the thought regardless of Victoire's presence. Still… Hermione's screams were echoing in his ears with painful clarity.

Hermione touched his sleeve lightly and half-smiled. "Hey."

Ron, sheepish, looked down. After a moment he addressed Harry, saying, "It's too bad Ginny and Luna aren't here. They really liked him."

Harry nodded. "He was… amazing. I just wish I could've done more for him—I mean, I don't even know how many times he helped me out, or saved my life, or…" He shook his head forcefully. "He was completely innocent. It's so _unfair_."

After giving Harry a moment to compose himself, Hermione reminded him, "Harry…? I'm sorry, but we'd best get going; we're expected at Hogwarts by seven and we've still got to..."

"Right, of course," said Harry, nodding. Looking down at Victoire, he said, "Vicky? You going to head home soon? It's getting a little dark out here."

"Not just yet," she said, eyes wide and angelic. "It's not really that dark yet, Uncle Harry, and I'm not far."

"So long as your parents don't worry," he warned her.

"Okay!" she sang out. She permitted her uncles to ruffle her hair affectionately and her aunt to kiss her on the cheek before taking off, sprightly and light-hearted as only a young child can be. Watching her carefree face break into a smile as she danced off, a voiceless thought presented it to Harry, Ron and Hermione in simple words:

_This is why we_ _fought._

A notion familiar and novel at the same time. It surrounded them thickly as they disappeared, and only misted away once they set foot on the solid ground of Hogsmeade. They sped up their pace, realising that people would begin pouring into the village momentarily. Already there were wizards and witches Apparating around them.

Some metres away from the frozen branches of the Whomping Willow, they stopped. They considered the narrow gap in the roots that was the entrance to the tunnel and glanced at each other. A normal sized adult would already find it difficult and awkward to squeeze in without the added complication of an expansive stomach.

"There's no way I can get down there," said Hermione apologetically. "You two had better go on without me; I'll wait up here."

"I'll stay, too," said Ron at once.

"We'll all stay," decided Harry. "Honestly, it's too claustrophobic down there anyway. We'll just… say what we were going to say from here. Okay?"

He was met with nods on both sides. Ron spoke first, saying, "I never really know what to say about him… except that even he didn't deserve to die the way he did."

Silence fell for a moment, and then Hermione said, "I'm sorry for the life he led. I hope he's happier now."

After a moment of reflection, Harry said, somewhat haltingly, "He wasn't the best or kindest of men… but he was brave and loyal to the point where that cost him his life. Those are traits that I can admire… that I do admire." He knelt down, conjured a single lily, and tossed it a short distance into the tunnel. He rose to his feet and said, eyes on the castle, "Let's go."

Walking into Hogwarts, they were the centre of everyone's attention, a phenomenon which they had become used to many years before. They were walking at a steady tempo through the Great Hall until Ron stopped suddenly and tugged at Harry's sleeve.

"Harry! Harry, it's Neville!" he said, pointing to the spot where the majority of Hogwarts' current staff was standing together. Neville, having caught their eye, excused himself and made his way through the ever-growing throng of people.

"Hello, you three," said Neville, hugging them each in turn. "It's good you made it; I was afraid with everything going on lately you wouldn't be able to."

"Never," said Hermione warmly. "Oh, Neville, it's so strange seeing you next to the teachers… I should say, the other teachers." She sighed. "The more things stay the same…"

"Don't worry, it's strange for me, too," confided Neville. "Most of them never expected me to return, you know… well, they're adjusting, too." He stuck his hands into the pockets of his robes. "Seen Luna yet?"

"Luna?" said Ron, confused. "I thought she was in Australia for Rolf's sister's wedding."

"I was supposed to be," said a dreamy voice from behind Hermione. Hermione spun around incredulously to find their old friend standing in front of her with a blond baby in her arms.

"Luna!" she exclaimed, pulling her into a careful hug so as to not jostle the baby from his sleeping position in his mother's arms. "And this must be Lorcan – he looks so much like you."

"Yes, it is, and I sure he's delighted to meet you." said Luna, smiling. Addressing Ron, she said, "I hope I haven't offended my sister-in-law terribly. I left the moment the ceremony ended and came here straightaway."

"Rolf's still in Australia?" asked Harry.

"Yes, he's going to be staying for the reception," Luna told him, holding the baby closer. "He knew I wanted to be here. He said he'd explain to his sister."

The five of them began walking as they caught up with the most recent events of their friends' lives. The mood was light-hearted enough until they reached their destination, the Astronomy Tower, and were hit by a solemn reminder of what was responsible for bringing them all together today.

Death. Love. Loss. Life. Pain. The list went on. And as they stood, surveying the spot where Albus Dumbledore had been killed, they knew not whether to be grateful or resentful. How could one not feel anger for what had been lost? And how could one not be thankful for all that was gained? War promises peace in the same way that a storm promises a rainbow.

Hermione, for once, held back her tears. She took extra care in creating an enormous bouquet of white roses which she placed with reverence on the windowsill of the tower. She stepped back to rejoin her friends and they stood all together, considering.

Seven o'clock rang out over the grounds, and one by one they turned and left. They re-entered the hall and were met by a silent crowd; a sea of bowed heads and sad eyes. Many were openly crying. They watched as Harry walked to the front of the room, flanked by Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna. His four friends backed away and left him to approach the podium by himself.

Harry could not help a glance backwards before he faced the audience. They were always intimidating in the magnitude of their grief. Drawing courage from his friends' faces, he turned back to face the crowd.

"Eight years ago…" he began.

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**I'm proud to say that all my characters are canon, even Lorcan.**

**If you have a moment to review I'd be so grateful, because I was incredibly spoiled with my last story. Plus, this one is a oneshot, so I only have one chance for feedback before it is lost to the endless pages of Harry Potter fanfiction.**

**Thank you so much for reading. :)**


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